


can't be cured of a rude heart

by hearteyesfordays



Series: playing dirty [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Hand Jobs, Infidelity, M/M, Minor Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann, Possessive Behavior, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:49:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24233860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearteyesfordays/pseuds/hearteyesfordays
Summary: Parse can't help himself. Jack can't get enough.
Relationships: Kent "Parse" Parson/Jack Zimmermann
Series: playing dirty [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1749196
Comments: 8
Kudos: 39





	can't be cured of a rude heart

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this kinkmeme [prompt:](https://omgkinkplease.dreamwidth.org/586.html?thread=842#cmt842) Jack and Parse are having an affair. Every time Bitty, Jack, and Parse are in the same place, Parse says and does things to (not so) subtly rub it in Bitty's face. Jack is super into it. Bitty has no idea what's going on. 
> 
> Title from “Zimt” by LissA.

  
  
“Good game, Zimms.” 

Parse is smiling when he meets Jack and Bitty in the hall by the visitor locker room. Jack hadn't expected him to be so chipper after a loss, but the Aces do still have the best record in the west. And Jack had gotten him off six times in the past two days.

He looks just like he did back in his hotel room, cheeks flushed, hair damp, a little breathless while he eased his cock out of Jack's mouth. Maybe it's his imagination, but Jack can almost taste him at the back of his throat. He's suddenly parched.

“Thanks, Parse,” he croaks, and shivers when Parse runs a knuckle across his forearm.

“That powerplay goal was fucking gorgeous.” Parse closes his eyes like he's picturing it in his head. Jack tamps down the urge to trace the curve of his cheekbone. “I bet half the bench was lining up to suck you off. I know I would have been.”

“ _Kenny_ ,” Jack says under his breath. He cuts his eyes toward Bitty.

Parse crinkles his brow in exaggerated confusion. He's not even trying to be convincing. “What, you never told him? Jack, you've been together for years, I figured—” 

“Oh, he told me,” Bitty says. “I know all about the Q and your...dalliance,” he sniffs. “Jack and I don't have secrets from each other. Although we try not to discuss them in public.” He looks down the empty hallway pointedly.

“That's great.” Parse smiles hugely at Bitty, then at Jack. “Good for you, Zimms.” He claps his hand over Jack's collarbone with targeted precision, then raises his eyebrows when Jack winces. 

“Wow, that's a wicked bruise you've got there.” Parse hooks a finger into Jack's shirt collar and tugs it back a little. Every muscle in his body goes tight, but Jack tries not to show his reaction. Bittle's standing two feet away.

“Yeah, uh, Marty almost took my head off at practice yesterday.”

“By accident, honey,” Bitty interjects. “You said he didn't see you.”

Parse makes a surprised sound. “That's from a stick? I would have sworn it was a hickey.” Jack's breath catches in his throat when their eyes meet. “But you were always so private about things like that.” Parse turns to look at Bitty. Jack can tell from the tilt of his head that he's smirking. “And we all know Bitty would never _dream_ of being indiscreet.”

Bitty smiles with every single one of his teeth. It makes Jack pretty uncomfortable.

Parse ignores it. “Winner buys dinner,” he croons at Jack, and herds him toward the exit. “Lezzgo!”

Jack doesn't talk in the car. His head is buzzing too hard for him to think clearly. Parse is content to play with the radio, flipping channels every five seconds until he finds something he likes. They beat Bitty to the restaurant. Jack knew they would; Bitty's a nervous driver, he avoids thruways at all costs.

“I'm gonna hit the head,” Parse says, after the two of them are seated. Jack hesitates one second, then follows him in. He locks the door behind them.

“What the hell was that, Parse?” Jack demands. It's like he wants Bittle to figure it out.

Parse rolls his eyes. “Please, you fucking loved it,” he says, and crowds Jack up against the sink. Jack doesn't deny it. Parse would know he's lying anyway; he's been hard since they left the arena.

Parse goes right for the hickey he'd left on Jack the day before, mouth hot against his skin. Jack's nerves light up instantly when Parse uses his teeth, the mixed pain and pleasure making him dizzy. He fists his hand in the back of Parse's shirt and pulls him closer. 

A dribble of precome slips out of him, slides down the length of his throbbing cock. Fuck, he's going to come in his fucking pants. Parse has barely touched him and he's most of the way there already.

“High sticking, that's pretty good, Zimms,” Parse says as he unbuckles Jack's belt and shoves down his pants. He grabs at Jack's ass, grip tight enough for Jack to feel each individual fingertip pressing into the muscle. “What's this going to be from?” he asks, as he fingers the wet patch on Jack's boxer briefs. “A plumbing accident?”

Jack catches Parse's lip between his teeth in lieu of an answer.

“Careful,” Parse chides him while he tucks the elastic of Jack's boxer briefs down under his balls. “What would Bitty say?”

Jack surges forward, his mouth connecting solidly with Parse's, tongue sliding in. He moans when Parse closes his hand around his cock. He's so close it hurts, and Parse knows it just as well as Jack does. Parse twists his wrist, squeezes, and Jack shudders as he coats Parse's hand with spunk.

Jack's just unzipping Parse's fly when his phone chirps in his pocket. He grunts in frustration. “That's Bittle,” he explains to Parse. “He always texts when he's arrived safely.”

“Go,” Parse bites out. “You fucking owe me.” 

Jack hurriedly puts his dick away and goes. He slides into his seat about three seconds before Bitty appears around the corner.

“Traffic was terrible,” Bitty exclaims. “Have y'all been here long?”

Jack shakes his head. “Just sat down.” 

Parse appears a few moments later, looking cool as a cucumber. “Just needed to wash my hands.” Parse smiles and wiggles his fingers at Bitty. “You know how filthy locker rooms are.”

“Do I ever,” Bitty replies, with a tentative smile of his own.

Dinner is less awkward than Jack expects it to be, probably because he says as little as possible. Parse always could charm the pants off of anyone, and for whatever reason he's playing nice with Bitty.

They're halfway through the entrée when Parse creeps his hand inside Jack's pants pocket and gets his pulse racing. He's almost disappointed when Parse slides his hand back out. And then he realizes Parse has his phone. Parse gives him a look like he's daring Jack to protest. Jack doesn't. He owes Parse one.

Parse fiddles with the phone for a few minutes, trying to break in. Jack concentrates on his steak, but he can feel Parse's eyes on him when the next passcode he tries works. What would be the point in changing it? Parse's birthday is easy to remember.

Parse starts texting one-handed. He rests the other one on Jack's knee.

Bitty gets pinker and pinker throughout the meal, his eyes darting between his phone and Jack's face. Jack keeps looking down at Parse's hand, but it's fine. He's supposed to be texting anyway.

Bitty sends him a shy, private smile after Jack's paid the bill. “I'll see you at home, sweetheart,” he whispers. 

Jack should probably try to find out how much trouble Parse has gotten him into. Or at least what kind.

Parse grabs his sleeve before Jack can open his mouth. “You're dropping me off at my hotel, remember? Swoops and the guys wanted to say hi. Don't worry,” he says to Bitty, “I won't keep him.”

An hour later, Jack's on his hands and knees on Parse's bed, sweat dripping into his eyes while Parse works two fingers up his ass.

“Another,” Jack begs. Parse gives him a third finger. Jack's starting to feel the burn now. He still wants more. He wants anything Parse will give him.

“So greedy.” Parse trails his other hand over Jack's ribs, sends goosebumps up the line of Jack's spine. “What's your boyfriend going to think when you come home stretched out like a whore, Jack?”

Jack turns his burning face into his arm. “He wouldn't know the difference. I've never let him fuck me.”

Parse goes still behind him. Jack whines, and Parse starts up again, pushing into him with an agonizingly slow rhythm. Jack can't scream, they're in a hotel room. But he'd really like to.

“You should let him tonight,” Parse says, sounding far away. “He wouldn't even have to prep you. You'll be so loose, my come will just slide right out.”

Jack groans and pushes back harder onto Parse's fingers. He wants them as deep as they can go.

“You're such a slut for me.” Parse drops a kiss on Jack's tailbone, then licks down to his fingers. “God, I love you like this.”

“You have to fuck me right now,” Jack orders. “Right fucking now, Kenny.”

“Bitch, bitch, bitch,” Parse teases, but he slides his fingers out of Jack's ass and knocks his legs a little wider. Parse leans in, his chest pressing down into Jack's back. “You're lucky I'm a soft touch.” His cock nudges at Jack's balls and slides up his crack. Jack digs his fingers into the fancy hotel sheets.

“You're going to be lucky I don't kill you in another minute,” Jack mutters.

“Shut the fuck up, Zimms.” Parse scrapes his teeth along Jack's shoulder blade and snaps his hips, his cock spearing into him, and Jack couldn't say anything now, even if he wanted to. It's so good he can barely breathe.

“You're so fucking perfect,” Parse says into his skin. “He doesn't even know what to do with you, does he?”

Jack hangs his head and moans. 

“Are you going to show him, baby? Are you going to go home and sit on his cock and let him have my sloppy seconds?” Parse grabs his hips and thrusts in so deep Jack has to bite his lip bloody to keep quiet. “Cause you were mine first, weren't you?”

“Kenny,” Jack pleads. Parse won't touch him, and he fucking needs it. He's so close.

Parse fists his hand in Jack's hair and tugs his head up. Jack's spine arches painfully. “Here's another secret to tell your boyfriend,” Parse hisses in Jack's ear. “You're still mine. You're always gonna be mine, Zimms.”

Jack comes all over himself.

His arms give out. He lands face-down in a pillow and drools while Parse nails his prostate, while Parse comes inside of him with a groan, while Parse collapses on top of him. He's heavy. Jack likes the weight.

“Don't get too comfy, Zimms,” Parse murmurs. “You've gotta go home.”

Jack whines in the back of his throat and reaches out to clutch at Parse's hands. He just needs this a little longer, Parse's mouth on the back of his neck, Parse's cock filling his ass. 

He'll tell Bittle he hit traffic. There's always traffic.  
  
  
  



End file.
